Very much wanted to.
What? I mouthed at her, knowing full well what.
‘Seeley Booth,’ she whispered, bugging her eyes. ‘Wait till he looks up.’
‘Shut up.’ I always had a thing for David Boreanaz, ever since his Vampire days, for which I blame my mom. On her night off, we watched Buffy religiously, though I was far too young to be up so late. Or watch anything as scary as latex-faced monsters, for that matter. She loved Spike, and I loved Angel.
So, in case you haven’t noticed, Gwen has this foolish thing where she’s convinced she sees celebrities everywhere. Case in point: ‘Jack White’ was playing at Zuzu’s, right?
But what if she was right this time? David Boreanaz. Right here in Boston.
‘Look. Look now!’ This time she didn’t keep her voice down, and I spun around again.
Dear God.
OK, he wasn’t Angel or Agent Booth, because he was even hotter.
No, really.
And about five years younger. Maybe ten? I can never tell how old people are after they hit 30, and I was pretty sure he’d hit that at some point.
To this day, I still can’t figure out how old Dorian Holder is.
Not that it matters.
Not that I care.
Evil shapeshifter is what he is.
Anyway, so there we were on the T, eyeballing this beautiful man who practically had a magical glowing aura around him. Apparently, we were staring too hard. Sensing Gwen’s and my unladylike leering, the object of our admiration glanced up, neatly folding his newspaper as though choreographed.
He smiled.
Wow.
Not a smile so much, if I’m to be honest, but one corner of his mouth definitely lifted into a flirty smirk. Not a cruel smirk, because he had an adorable dimple, which softened the seriousness of his square jaw, high cheekbones and flashing eyes. Deep down, Adonis was very sweet, I was certain. It was a flirty smirk, and was already embedded in my memory bank, an image I planned to revisit over the few precious minutes before falling asleep at day’s end.
Our eyes met.
No shit.
His – brown eyes? Hazel eyes? Green eyes? I couldn’t tell. Anyway, his eyes twinkled for a moment, as though to say, Yeah, I know, lady. Take a good look. Maybe that’s what his eyes said. They glittered, letting me know they tell this story often, the story of women who cannot help but ogle. That he would be tolerant of our girlish fancies.
I preferred my fantasy that there was a sweetness about him. Maybe it was the dimple action that fooled me?
‘He’s totally checking you out,’ Gwen insisted, her voice a shade too loud.
Now our handsome stranger full-on grinned, ran a hand through his casual yet professional tousled brown hair and stood to his full height, which was around six foot two. I felt nothing short of blessed to see this guy, and have him notice me.
This man, rather. We all know guys.
The vision before me was no guy. He was a Man, with a capital M.
Now, I’m not talking about age, which can be irrelevant when it comes to separating guys from men. There’s a Man Thing, that thing where you just know he’s been there, done that, seen this, possibly won that. A winner. Charisma.
He was beautiful; there’s no other word for it. Sorry if it sounds corny, but sometimes you see someone, and you’re never quite the same afterwards. Maybe you don’t know why, and maybe you’ll never find out. But that’s OK. You’ve seen him. Whatever. And now you’re changed. It may not be sexual, though it’s way cooler if that factor comes into play.
Adonis of the Trains exuded physicality, sensuality and a certain something I still could never explain in words. Most of us could spend a lifetime seeking it, a certain kind of magic that only a small percentage of the population possess. After all, why do girls love rock stars when we’re changing into young women? What do we seek when looking at any man? That elusive something. If we’re lucky, we get a glimpse.
So there was my glimpse, and facing the day at the office was less horrible.
He’s a sign from God, I thought. This is where my 24th year begins, and it will be the best one ever. This is the year I reach womanhood, the year I blossom, the year my luck changes.
The man stepped forward, a determined expression on his face, just as the train jerked to a gut-wrenching halt.
What? Was he heading towards me? I wondered. No way.
A throng of people shoved into us; we assimilated and blended into the masses. The collective propelled Gwen and me forward like a couple of bowling pins, and we were swept out through the folding doors into the deep blue sea of anxious young urban professionals, into another working week, some of us unchanged and still stuck in the Groundhog Day mindset. Either they did not see Adonis, or they were like Gwen and me, blowing sideways through life.
But I saw him.
He saw me.
That happened.
Maybe that would be enough.
Godammit. Where was he?
Adonis Trainman was lost in the crowd, despite his notable height and despicable beauty. Gwen and I half stumbled, half fell out of the train into the day’s next moment.
They are only moments, after all, and that one was mine. I already looked forward to remembering Adonis, whoever he was.
‘Wait for him,’ commanded Gwen, her voice high with excitement. ‘He’ll be out in a second. This is going to happen. Lily! This is going to happen, do you hear me?’
She jumped in a circle, while I nodded dumbly and let her grab my elbow. We waited by the train like a couple of teenage mall chicks in line for a Miley Cyrus concert.
Are girls still paying attention to Miley? Or did she go out like a wrecking ball? I never listen to the radio.
Anyway.
Figuratively speaking, I missed my train. The last of the passengers exited, and Adonis was not one of them.
But, like I said, sometimes a moment is enough. Though a ‘meet-cute’ wouldn’t have killed me, a ‘look-intensely’ would do just fine. Today. Because ten minutes earlier, today wanted to suck. But after seeing the man I would come to love – and then to hate – I felt a little gorgeous myself.
Is beauty contagious?
My throat dry as a gulch, I swallowed hard enough that it hurt while looking at Gwen, waiting for her to say her inevitable right thing.
‘Aw, shucks, kid.’ She punched me on the arm. ‘But, fuckin’ A, you two totally had the “five-minute marriage”, I’m telling you.’
‘That works. Thanks, Gwen.’
I thought so, too, and I guess she didn’t need to tell me whether I imagined that smouldering exchange. But yes, she did need to, because at the time I was even more insecure than I am now, and I would likely ask her to tell me again later in a weak moment. Normally I second-guessed anything which brought me a bit of joy, since life continually proved me wrong, every chance my silly little life got.
‘Come on.’ Gwen snapped her fingers. I was staring ahead, lost in my head and surely looking catatonic. ‘Let’s go, Lily.’
We headed toward the steps as the tube squeaked forward. I turned my head one last time, hoping for a final glimpse.
Not disappointed.
Because there stood the stranger, hanging onto a tall, steel pole. He looked out the window, and caught my eye once again.
There was a good, solid, old-school I see you and see you seeing me see you moment.
Then he grasped the pole tighter as the train jerked ahead with a warm, sympathetic, whoosh.
And then he was gone.
‘Lily’s got a boyfriend,’ Gwen singsonged.
Nothing’s changed, Lily, said a horrible voice inside my mind. Don’t go getting all happy and cocky. Go look in a mirror, and see if you still imagine that sexy thing would look twice. He was looking at Gwen, not you.
But this time I refused to listen to, or feed, the troll of my own self-doubt. I shook my head, trying to empty my mind and go back to my joyful space, which I should be
allowed to feel. Because I was different, and liked myself a little better than I did, out sitting on the steps at South Station, hanging with the pigeons. They were special, too, I guess. In their little pigeony way.
Gwen and I ran up the steps together, excited to be out of the dark, back in the sunshine, where beautiful girls belong.
Chapter Two
Holder Tight
We arrived on the eighteenth floor at 9.07, only to find our tiny corner of Apollyon apocalyptically empty.
‘Fuhhck,’ I said. ‘Where are we supposed to be?’
‘Next floor up. Important And Mysterious Meeting,’ Gwen said, smacking her forehead. ‘Scheduled for Monday morning at nine sharp, and three email reminders last week. Thank God I persuaded you to be a responsible adult.’
‘No doubt.’ I peered around at all the abandoned cubicles. ‘Better to be fashionably late than not show at all, right?’
‘Time will tell.’
* * *
President Colossimo had a thing about punctuality – I suppose most bosses do – and since the Important And Mysterious Meeting appeared to be about something unpleasant to Mr Colossimo, he would be neither pleased nor amused by our tardiness. Gwen and I were both due for another written warning, and I was betting that this was our not-so-lucky day.
Gwen turned to me, fingers to lips. ‘Shh …’
‘Duh,’ I whispered. Stagefright. My stomach churned, and I was rethinking that breakfast burrito.
‘OK.’ Gwen shifted on her feet. Despite her devil-may-care bravado, she was one of the most scared people I’ve ever met.
Still is.
Brave but scared.
‘We so fucked up,’ Gwen said, as we trotted down the hall toward Conference Room Three.
‘I fucked up. You came and found me. And made me get on the train.’
‘True story.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘That means you go in first, buttercup.’
‘Yeah, OK.’ I surreptitiously opened the door of the conference room, where Mr Colossimo was holding court. He stopped, mid-sentence, and his bloated face was less than welcoming.
‘Ladies,’ he said, voice dripping with Mean Old Man sarcasm. ‘So glad you could join us.’
All heads turned – because late-comers who make the punctuality of others look awesome are fascinating – but our mumbled apologies were ignored by all-powerful Mr Colossimo. He cleared his rattly, jowly throat and continued. ‘As I began to say, by way of introduction: on my left is Joey Danforth, a.k.a. “New Kid On the Block”.’
He delivered that with ‘air quotes’, of course, and there was fake chuckling around the long table. What a bunch of suckups. But the heat was off Gwen and me now, and 35 curious faces took a look at the nervous new gofer, thankful for the distraction and reprieve.
‘Joey’s joining the Apollyon HR team, so Joey is always ready to –’ Mr Colossimo looked quickly at his legal pad ‘– lend an ear. Maybe he’s the “New Kid”, but we’re the – hold on.’ We waited while he looked back at his notes. ‘Funky bunch.’
Did Mr Colossimo really need to check his notes for this unfunny patter? Jesus. I hated him in a very unwholesome way right then. Anyway, poor Joey The New Kid. I waited for Gwen to text me. Sure enough:
new guy jo=totaly mark walbrg, undrcvr, RIGHT ;)
While adorable, Joey Danforth was no Marky-Mark. Really, Gwen. Luckily my phone was on vibrate.
Under the table I typed back:
STFU&no more txt
‘Dawna Jamison, tell us about the DVDs.’ Mr Colossimo gave a full-denture smile, or his closest reasonable facsimile. The attempt looked more as though he were gritting his falsies. ‘It seems we’ve had a good month?’
Dawna was in marketing. She seemed cool, far as I was concerned, though Gwen called her Team Slut. But when Gwen got all snarky on coworkers like Dawna, who came and went, I always said, ‘Not a slut, she just likes suggestive clothing.’ Trashing other girls isn’t my thing. For the most part.
Seeing as, if one were to be fair, I might have fallen into the slut category.
A slut on hiatus, but a slut nevertheless.
A secret slut.
‘Fabulous,’ Dawna Jamison said, beaming. ‘The Golden Ticket for the Pretty’n Pink free weights we put out with Joni Smith’s “Lite-Weight-Late-Nite-She-Bop”? It was retro-brilliant?’
Please ask me how much I like it when people end a statement with a question mark.
‘Go on?’ Mr Colossimo hunched forward on fisty, meaty knuckles, Denny Craning his neck.
‘Two birds with one stone,’ she said, smiling at us, ‘because what we started calling those “Freer-Than-Free-Weights” weren’t exactly flying off the shelves before this month? Like as soon as the video came out? Well, not to toot my own horn?’
Hmm. I mean, HMMM? For the record, I came up with the Willy Wonka concept, which was so not part of my job, and wrote the copy. Gwen designed the Golden Ticket and made it look all awesome. Basically if you bought the speed yoga DVD, you got a free set of pink dumbbells, and then a discount on all future free weight purchases. For the double record? Me, myself and I wrote the workout ‘You go, girl’ patter, to which perky speed yoga babe Joni Smith kept forgetting all my hooky one-liners. Grr.
Sorry, we all have our sticking points. I worked so hard to sell Apollyon shit, yet never so much as saw my name in a pretty font in the rolling credits. Furthermore, Ms Famous Fitness Guru Joni Smith miscounted reps. Now, I’ve done that speed yoga/free weight workout. Fuck, from the hours I spent in front of the flatscreen (refuse gym, prefer private fitness, despite the awesome bennies and personal trainer all Apollyonians have as an option), I knew from what. Learn to count, Joni.
Jealous, much, Lily? Why, yes, I was.
‘Great,’ said Mr Colossimo, his booming voice bringing me back to earth. ‘Let’s start putting those Golden Tickets in all the DVDs.’
Whatevz.
‘Let’s not forget about the killer copy on the back cover, and the script, which was occasionally forgotten by Joni Smith. Or rather, set aside by Joni Smith, if we want to give her the benefit of the doubt,’ piped up Jay-Jay Tanaka. Jay-Jay was the most agreeable fellow in my department. He loved me to death, for no reason that I could fathom. ‘Lily, your writing was nothing short of scrumptious.’
‘Jay-Jay,’ I mumbled, and wished he would stop. I was fine with Mr Colossimo refusing to remember my name, or ever having the word scrumptious planted in his mind regarding anything about any part of me.
‘Lily, you are the goddess of copy.’ Jay-Jay shoved his black-rimmed glasses up his small nose. ‘And, if memory serves, the Golden Ticket was your idea.’
I winked at him, while clearing my throat. Jay-Jay had never said a word at any of our meetings before. Apparently that was a wise decision, if this was his idea of how to conduct himself around a conference table. ‘Thanks, Jay-Jay.’
‘Since we currently have no creative director, coming up with ideas is every department’s job. We don’t have time to be patting ourselves on the back.’ Mr Colossimo gave me a brief glance. ‘You’re all Idea Men, now.’
Wow, really? I was an Idea Man. Just what every girl wants to be. Jesus. Why did Jay-Jay have to open his big gay mouth?
I ask that politically incorrect rhetorical question with total love and affection, btw.
‘Before we get on to other business, I need to tell you quickly why I called this meeting for nine, rather than ten. I apologise if it inconvenienced any of you –’ his eyes shot daggers at Gwen and me ‘– but there are about to be some changes around the office, not all of which are to my liking. And if they’re not to my liking, chances are they won’t be to yours, either.’
I sat up higher in my chair, already liking the ‘changes’ that supposedly wouldn’t be to my liking. Oh, boy! Maybe Mr Colossimo was going to take another one-month leave of absence to a ‘health club,’ also known as the psych ward, and get some shock-treatment therapy. Boo-ya! It had happened twice s
ince I started at Apollyon. I reckoned he was due for another breakdown.
Yes, my boss was certifiable.
‘Apparently, Corporate is talking about me behind my back,’ he continued.
Here we go. Paranoia is how it all begins. Monday was improving with every passing minute.
‘They’re sending one of their “guys” from Denver to come see what we’re doing “wrong” –’ he gestured a few more air quotes ‘– and “suggest” some “changes”. Meaning, tell us how to do our jobs.’
Lots of serious nods and murmurs of ‘How could they?’ ‘How dare they?’ For the record, the entire office loved it when Mr Colossimo went all Blanche Dubois and left us to our own devices. We all performed better, no two ways about it.
‘Well, team Apollyon, I say we’re doing just fine.’ He paused, looked at us and thumped a rather flaccid fist upon the marble tabletop. ‘Can I have a round of applause for the May numbers? There was only the slightest drop. Slightest. Marginal, even. As opposed to April’s slightly more than minor setback. Which was a mistake in the books, in my humble opinion. Which, trust me, I will take up with accounting.’
Yeah, like there was humble anything about Mr Colossimo. We all clapped, anyway, because Apollyon associates are sheep. Clapping, applauding sheep. Fact is, Mr Colossimo just couldn’t think of any other positive news to report besides the success of our new DVD. That was just sad. What was a ‘slight drop’, anyway? A drop was a drop, we were looking at summer, when people obsessively exercise for bikini season, and our sales should have been rising. Significantly rising. Our club memberships were too expensive, our equipment was too expensive, we hadn’t done anything remotely cool in a gazillion years, and … now we were just another jungle-gym, yo.
Sorry, just channelling the Funky Bunch.
‘… despite what I see as a heckofalotta positive change.’ Colossimo sighed, drumming the table. ‘Just remember that I’m your guy. There’s one supervisor in the office, and it’s Mr Colossimo. Period. The end. End of story. Finito!’
Reaching Lily Page 2
